


Seasons of Love

by KateyBarton



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Barble Bath?, Bubble Bath, Budding Love, Courtroom Drama, Creative use for a handheld showerhead, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Grumpy Juridical Tornado, Humor, Implied/Referenced Sexual Harassment, Potential Romance, Rafael Barba can sing, Sass, Sexy Times, Those damned three-piece suits, flirty teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-19
Updated: 2016-06-08
Packaged: 2018-06-09 09:42:03
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,965
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6900799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateyBarton/pseuds/KateyBarton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four seasons. Two people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fall

**Author's Note:**

> My first Barba fic so please be gentle.  
> Enjoy!

There was something oddly enjoyable about the sound of crunching leaves underfoot, she’d never been able to precisely identify why the noise brought her so much audible pleasure but she chalked it up to some distant childhood memory of piles of orange leaves and old tire swings. Whatever the reason was it meant her brisk trek toward the courthouse was more gratifying than it really should have been; her scheduled evening was going to be anything but pleasant. Noticing her date had not yet arrived she allowed herself a few more minutes to walk slowly through the clusters of amber leaves before making her way up the steps toward the towering columns.

Jemima waited.

She brushed her thumb across the screen of her phone before pressing it to her ear; she’d convinced herself of mishearing his voice message. It was short, his tone curt and she noted the obvious frustration in his voice was probably a result of her not answering when he called.

 

_“Miss Craig, this is ADA Barba. I’ll meet you outside the courthouse at 7pm to go over your testimony. Don’t be late.”_

 

“7pm my ass,” she hissed, tucking the phone into her deep coat pocket. Punctuality was a very important quality in Jemima’s opinion and if he was going to bark orders at her he’d want to make good on his demands. It was now twenty minutes past their designated meeting time and Jemima was cold, uncomfortably so. Propping her collar up against her neck to shield it from the wind she slid her bare hands under her armpits to keep them warm. The sky was starting to spit, tiny droplets kissing her nose and cheeks and she moved a little further underneath the shelter ensuring she was still visible from the street. She rolled her eyes when the rain increased, the wind angling it toward her at a very drastic tilt. Rain she could deal with, she was a Seattle girl at heart, what she didn’t appreciate was waiting in it.

He finally appeared, hair and shoulders damp from the sudden rain and his eyes fixed on the screen of his phone.  
“Mr Barba,” Jemima shivered a little as she waved to catch his attention. The irritation in her voice was clear.  
“I saw you, Miss Craig. Hello,” he nodded, motioning for her to follow him inside.

Her feet worked hard to stay at his side, frustration growing when he continued to read the email on his phone, “Do you like to keep all of your witnesses waiting in the cold before you prep them?”  
When he eventually looked up at her she regretted her course tone; meeting hers was the face of a man who had not intended to inconvenience her, a man whose problems were bigger than a little shitty weather.

His expression was solemn and combined with his mussed and dripping hair she thought he looked particularly defeated.  
“Rough day?” she asked tentatively.  
As if reading her thoughts he immediately brushed his fingers through his thick dark hair in an attempt to tidy it and straightened his posture before replacing his sombre expression with his usual game face.  
“Long,” he sighed as he followed his witness through the door. “Filled with lots of unnecessary conversation.”

The way he raised an accusing eyebrow at her caused Jemima to blink in surprise; though she couldn’t fault his honesty he was a dick about it. Her concern for him was quickly replaced with her usual air of indifference. If her role in this case wasn’t so imperative she wouldn’t have bothered playing nice with the ADA at all; she was naturally outspoken and upfront, especially when it came to manners, but her commitment to the case was out of loyalty to her friend and she wasn’t going to let her down because of one rude attorney.

In their previous interactions he had blown into the conversation, barked directions, opinions or concerns at whomever would listen and when his mouth wasn’t running mile a minute it was filled with whatever food source he could find. He’d depart just as rapidly as he entered, phone and briefcase in hand like some kind of grumpy juridical tornado. After one such meeting Jemima caught herself wondering if Rafael Barba could actually smile, she doubted it. The closest she’d encountered was a self-satisfied smirk, which she decided didn’t count. She’d wondered if his face would break like glass if his lips ever turned upwards and the corners of his eyes crinkled with joy. She’d quickly stopped herself from trying to imagine what a genuinely happy ADA Barba looked like.

She’d also once pondered what his blood pressure would be but when she envisioned wrapping the cuff around his bicep, sometimes clothed in soft shirt fabric, sometimes rolled up to expose his bare tanned skin, she’d abruptly stop herself to think about something else like taxes or climate change.

The courtroom was dark and empty this time of night; a Manhattan courthouse was probably the most unusual destination she’d spent a Friday night and while she much preferred to be in her tiny apartment queuing up Netflix Jemima knew there wouldn’t be much of a case without her involvement and her testimony needed revision. She shed her navy coat, placing it over the defence’s desk next to Barba’s own garments before making her way to the witness stand. She decided to keep her woollen beanie on, it was chilly inside the courthouse and it tamed her somewhat wild, wavy blond locks.

The stark click of her heeled boots echoed throughout the empty room as she walked and she felt strangely wayward; as if the two of them were trespassing in the government building not unlike the evenings of her misspent youth spent sneaking into her high school gym. Barba opted to only use the lights above the witness stand, leaving the rest of the room cast in darkness and it would have made for a rather intimate atmosphere had they been meeting under different circumstances and had they been completely different people. The ADA didn’t strike her as the type of guy who would have snuck onto school grounds for pot and heavy petting sessions during his teenage years.

One more weird thought to push to the back of her mind.

He removed his suit jacket and folded it neatly over his chair before approaching the jury box to Jemima’s left, rolling up his shirtsleeves as he strode confidently. Clearing his throat he enunciated clearly, “Miss Craig, please describe your relationship with Miss Jones.”

“We’re friends. We work together at New York Presbyterian.”  
“You’re both nurses, correct?”  
“Yes. Alyssa works in Operating Theatres. I work in the Emergency Department.”  
“Good,” Barba nodded to her, arms folded, back resting on the jury box.  
“And how do you know the accused?”  
“Dr Buchman is a surgeon at the hospital.”  
“And your relationship to Dr Buchman?” Barba pushed himself off his resting spot and edged closer to the witness stand.  
“Colleagues. That’s all.”  
“The relationship never developed into anything more?”  
Jemima wrinkled her nose at the thought. “No, though he tried. Numerous times.”

Barba exhaled slowly before continuing his questioning, “Could you please elaborate?”  
“Dr Buchman asked me out a handful of times, I politely declined each time. When he gave up on asking nicely he became forceful. I refused still which made him hostile towards me. He often made suggestive comments to me or about me to others and he was also physically inappropriate on a number of occasions.”  
“Could you explain how?”  
“How long do we have?” Jemima smiled though it didn’t reach her blue eyes.  
Barba wasn’t amused, “Miss Craig,” his tone was stern.

Jemima shrugged, “Dr Buchman can be very… handsy. Often in front of patients when I’m unable to stop or address him without making a scene. Once we were alone in the break room and he rubbed himself against me while I was bending over getting something out of the fridge.”

The quick flash of rage on the attorney’s face comforted her. The way his nostrils flared in anger, though surprising, told her she was right to speak out against the surgeon.

“Did you want him to do that? To grind on you?” Barba’s game face had returned.  
“Of course not! I didn’t even know he was there until he crept up behind me and started groaning.”  
“Was this behaviour solely focused on you?”  
Jemima shook her head slowly, “No. I’ve witnessed a number of young nurses and reception staff be subject to his behaviour. He took a particular liking to Alyssa Jones. She told me he’d rub himself against her while they were in theatres or ‘accidentally’ walk in on her in the locker rooms while she changed out of her scrubs. She often came to me crying.”

Barba’s questions followed steadily and she answered each one thoughtfully and honestly. Jemima checked her watch as he quickly scribbled notes on his legal pad. It was almost 9pm and exhaustion was starting to hit her. The attorney was leaning over the desk, his forearm on the flat wood as he wrote; he tapped the toe of his brown leather shoe on the floor to a rhythm silent to all but him.

Jemima admired him from her confines; the strong feelings she held for men in three-piece suits were starting to creep into the forefront of her tired mind. His was particularly well tailored; navy trousers and waistcoat with a baby blue shirt complimented by a burgundy tie. Jemima knew she was observing him too closely, her eyes raking over him too slowly. Out of habit her hands moved to flatten the skirt of her dark green dress in an attempt to distract her thoughts. It was a little tick she had, to play with her clothes, straighten or pull at their threads when she wanted to steady her mind. She needed to remind herself that only two hours ago she was cursing him for his tardiness, his rude manner and general air of arrogance.

She felt a heaviness crawl up her chest and into her throat, the irony of her current situation was not lost on her and it made her feel ill. They were forced together because of a case of sexual harassment and assault and yet she couldn’t take her eyes off him while he worked. She was adjusting the cap sleeve of the retro A-line outfit when Barba cleared his throat to catch her attention.

“Miss Craig, I think you’re best when you’re not so verbose. Try to keep it concise, it makes you seem less nervous” he instructed. “And please stop fidgeting with your dress.”  
“Sorry Counsellor, but I am nervous. I don’t want to mess this up for Alyssa, I know her case isn’t strong,” Jemima had been informed of the lack of hard evidence, the disaster rape-kit and Dr Buchman’s hotshot lawyer. It frightened her.

He approached the stand and folded his hands on the rail, leaning over so his face was close to hers. He looked up at her with warm eyes, “You’ll be fine. You’re good to do this for her, I heard the hospital has more-or-less turned it’s back.”

They stared at one another for a long moment, enveloped by the cocoon of dim light and eerie silence. Jemima hadn’t noticed his soulful green eyes before, they were usually hard and focused, often darting or rolling around his skull whenever something annoyed him. But now they were kind and gentle, patient even. He broke their gaze before she could identify exactly what it was she saw in those magnificent orbs of his. “I’ll be right back,” Barba murmured and hurried out of the room.

Jemima watched him as he left, noting again how well he wore his suit. 'Stop it' she thought over and over again.

In his absence she took the time to familiarise herself to the environment. How anyone could ever feel comfortable in this room was beyond her; but if anyone could it would be him. He walked around the space like he owned it, though she wondered if that would be different on Monday morning when the lights were on and the chairs were full. She glanced to her right where the judge would preside and then to her left where the jury would watch her. She faced stressful circumstances on a daily basis in her line of work, just last week she assisted in an unexpected delivery of a baby on the waiting room floor and yet sitting in that room set her heart racing faster than she cared to admit.

 

Barba returned holding two paper cups of black coffee and placed one on the rail for his witness. He had already drunk half of his own and Jemima wondered about the effects of too much caffeine on the brain – she’d read somewhere that it could mimic the symptoms of schizophrenia.

“Thank you,” she smiled weakly and watched him fish out two sugar sachets from his jacket pocket.  
“Sorry it’s only the shitty instant stuff,” Barba nodded.  
“That’s fine. I don’t drink it anyway.”  
“Coffee snob, huh? Well it’s too late to grab you a flat white so this will have to suffice.”  
Jemima shook her head, “No snobbery here. I just don’t actually drink coffee.” She played with the cup, rotating it on the polished wooden rail before her.

Barba looked up at her with lightening speed, an eyebrow raised in disbelief, “Born and raised in Seattle and you don’t drink coffee? Next you’ll tell me you don’t have a copy of Nevermind in your CD rack.”

Jemima stared at him.

“Suit yourself,” he sighed. With one swift movement he poured her unwanted coffee into his own cup. “Waste not want not,” he winked before throwing the empty blue paper cup into the trashcan behind the judge’s chair.  
“I guess you’re upset about missing Thanksgiving with your family, I imagine it’d be beautiful this time of year?” He spoke over his shoulder as he moved back towards the notes on his desk.

_What is happening?_ Jemima remained motionless; her face resembling something akin to fear and confusion. _Where did hard-ass Barba go?_ Should she tell him no one owns CD racks or CDs anymore?  
She eyed him cautiously as he packed his notes into his leather briefcase. Maybe those studies on caffeine-induced neurological disorders were on to something.

He stood facing her, waiting for a response. She managed a small nod; “I’ll make it up to them at Christmas.”

She took his actions as a cue that they’d finished and rose from her seat. Donning her coat, fastening the three heavy buttons she made her way out of the room and into the empty lobby, Barba only a few steps behind her. He was expertly carrying both his phone and coffee, which was almost completely consumed, in the one hand. Jemima wondered whether he had eaten though she decided not to ask, he was back to his usual aloof self. The rain was still pelting down and she mentally calculated the quickest, driest route home. Turning around she noted he was still busy reading, he probably hadn’t even noticed they were now outside and he was about to walk into the steady rain.  
“Do you have an umbrella?” she asked. She hadn’t thought to bring one herself but he seemed like a man prepared. When he didn’t answer she shrugged.  
“Goodnight Mr Barba,” she sighed making her way to the steps leading down to the shiny, wet street.

A strong hand gripped her elbow and she almost slipped in surprise. She spun to find the ADA sidled up next to her, the rain splashing against his face. He squinted as he focused on her, the droplets of water hitting his eyelashes causing him to blink rapidly. She waited for him to speak. His thumb drew small circles in the crook of her elbow, it was soft but even through the thick material of her coat she could feel it. The stern expression of his face seemed at odds with the intimacy of his touch.

“9am Monday,” he reminded her. “And wear that same dress.”  
Jemima raised an eyebrow, “do you think you can make it here on time?”

Barba released her arm, his demeanour immediately changed and a sweet genuine smile graced his face. Before she could return it he was walking away from her.

So that was what he looked like when he smiled.


	2. Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rafael Barba is a sneaky thief.

Jemima leaned her arms forward to touch her toes, stretching out her back and shoulders as she did so. Her fingers massaged her feet through the thick woollen socks, trying her hardest to warm them up. She came to rest back into the window frame and sighed. Her body fit perfectly in the makeshift window seat she’d created in her little apartment, her feet coming to rest snugly at the other end of the frame. It was her favourite thing about her home – she loved sitting there with a book or a cup of tea and looking out into the city. Sure there wasn’t much to look at, just other buildings, but there was usually something going on in the street below. Today she watched the snow. It had come as a surprise but December had been particularly cold. Jemima wasn’t complaining, she had nowhere to be and she found snow soothing to watch.

 

There were perks to living in a shoebox of an apartment. Small, small perks. Her place consisted of a pokey bedroom, ensuite and a combined kitchen and living area. She liked that whenever she baked the smell would waft through every inch of her home and today it smelled like chocolate brownies. She liked that when she had music playing on her laptop in the kitchen she could hear it anywhere in her apartment. Jemima forced herself to see the bright side of her living situation because otherwise she’d dwell on the negatives – the crack-dealer two doors down, the guy downstairs that smelt like cheese and stole her mail or the perpetually broken front door to the building. She learnt early to keep a baseball bat at her bedside table.

 

As she waited for her oven to finish she returned her attention to the outside world, observing the Christmas decorations in neighbouring windows and the colourful lights wrapped around the streetlights below. It was just on dusk so the flickering lights looked particularly enchanting. She tapped her feet against the frame to the beat of the music playing, some Otis Redding to boost her spirits. Jemima had missed Thanksgiving because of the case and now Christmas had passed her by. Her mother had posted her present in the mail and they Skyped on the day, Jemima trying her hardest to look happy for the sake of her family. They prayed the case would be over soon so she could fly home for some quality family time. She hated lying to them.

 

Returning to the kitchen she pulled the baking tray from the oven and laid the brownie slab onto the cooling rack, satisfied with her handiwork. A sickly buzzing sound pulled her out of her reverie. It was a rare sound – the busted entry to the building meant no one bothered with the intercom system anymore, visitors had become more presumptuous and, frankly, rude.

 

Jemima backed over to the intercom, oven mitts and empty tray in hand to press the button with her elbow.

“Yes?” she sounded cautious.

“Miss Craig? It’s Rafael Barba, from the DA’s office,” his voice filled her apartment. “May I speak with you?”

 

Jemima dropped the tin tray in surprise making a terrible noise as it crashed onto the hardwood floor under her feet. Of course her elbow was still pressed to the speaker button. “Fuuu…” she cut herself off. “Sure.”

“What was that noise?” he queried.

“Nothing!” she rushed before buzzing him through, realizing afterwards how redundant that was.

 

It had been almost three weeks since the verdict came through in favour of her friend. He’d accepted their thanks and shook their hands before leaving the courtroom, briefcase in hand and head held high. She had convinced herself Rafael Barba was just a guest star in her life, a quick cameo and he was gone. Someone like him doesn’t come back in a recurring role, not in her story anyway.

 

Jemima’s eyes darted around her home, given her abundance of spare time the apartment was remarkably clean for once. She looked down at herself, she was wearing a pair of old jeans and a purple hoodie, her useless bright orange socks capping off her relaxed outfit. She thought about changing, or at very least doing something with her messy hair. It was a walk-up and she was on the fifth floor, it’s not like Barba would be running. She had time to change. She paced around her living room, not committing to an actual direction or decision. The tray was back in her hands and she tapped it against her forehead three times in an attempt to pull herself together. _What is wrong with you?_

 

Two brisk knocks shook her door and Jemima jumped. In two strides she was there, facing the dark green wood. She only realized when she reached for the knob that she was still wearing her oven mitts, novelty Mickey Mouse gloves of course. She whipped them off, threw them and the tray in the general direction of the kitchen sink and quickly combed her hair with her fingers before slowly, calmly, opening the door.

 

“Mr Barba,” she breathed, trying her hardest to appear nonchalant. “Hi, come in.”

“Thanks,” he nodded as he slid into the tiny living area. There was still snow on the shoulders of his coat and his nose and cheeks were pink. She stared a little too long at the hue of his cheeks, those sweet chipmunk cheeks she often caught herself thinking about.

“Cold out?” Jemima immediately winced at the banality of her question.

He nodded again. His eyes met hers and she imagined his thoughts, _‘no shit it’s cold, it’s winter you know?’_

 

Jemima led him into her kitchen, motioning toward a barstool at the island bench “Is there a problem with the case, Mr Barba? I thought everything was wrapped up.”

“No, no everything is fine. His sentencing is next month. I’m here on a personal matter actually” he stated matter-of-factly as he removed his scarf and dark coat to lay them on a spare stool.

“Okay…” an eyebrow quirked.

 

Her guest sat down at the bench and clasped his hands together before continuing. “I called in at the Emergency Department yesterday,” he started before casting his eyes around the apartment to take in his surroundings. “But they told me you’re no longer an employee.”

 

Jemima nodded. She understood where he was going. She was used to people coming to her for medical advice or little favours, people too busy to sit in a crowded waiting room for hours. As he turned away from her she inspected him, trying to guess what ailment brought him to her. He looked like he took good care of himself and he seemed as confident as ever, so it probably wasn’t anything too sensitive. Ingrown toenail maybe? Or perhaps he had some stitches to be removed, who wants to pay doctors fees for a two-minute job?

 

He returned his focus to her, catching her silent examination of him. She quickly turned to the kitchen cupboard, “Would you like a coffee or tea?”

“Neither, thanks.”

Jemima turned back to glance at him suspiciously. She didn’t know him well but her experience with him told her he wasn’t one to pass up a hot, caffeinated beverage. He met her eye and smirked, “You don’t drink coffee so I wouldn’t trust you to make it.”

 

Her eye roll was involuntary.

 

“So,” the attorney continued. “You left the hospital. You’re lucky to pick up work at Christmas, where are you now?”

Avoiding his gaze she picked out a large knife from her set and began slicing the brownie slab evenly, wiping the blade with a napkin after each slice. “I have a lot of time on my hands at the moment, hence the baking,” she shrugged as she continued cutting. She returned the individual brownies to the rack, each one straight and even.

 

“Why didn’t you go home for Christmas?” Barba queried. “You said yourself you wanted to make up for missing Thanksgiving.”

 

His eyes bore into hers, though his expression was neutral. She was back on the stand but this time he was cross-examining her. She wasn’t sure of the intentions behind his line of questions but she knew he was a human lie detector and little could get past him.

 

“Why are you here, Mr Barba?” her voice unintentionally pitchy with self defence and she waved the sharp knife absentmindedly as she asked. “Do you need something?”

His eyes turned wide as she moved the blade in the air with abandon. “Just to talk,” he assured her.

 

Noticing his fearful expression she quickly lowered the knife. A sigh left her lips; she knew full well he wasn’t going to let her evade his questions. “I told my parents the case was still going and that I couldn’t come home,” her stance shifted awkwardly as she continued.

“I moved here 18 months ago, I couldn’t go home with nothing to show for it – no job, no partner, no idea. I just couldn’t have that conversation with everyone in my family especially around the Christmas tree. They’d tell me moving here was a mistake; that I should’ve stayed in Seattle. They already use what happened to Alyssa as a reason why it’s not safe to live here.”

 

Jemima knew how pathetic it all sounded. “And before you say anything, I am not wallowing around here in self-pity. I’m looking for work and I’m keeping myself busy.”

“Making cookies?” his cynicism was thick.

“Clearly they’re brownies, Mr Barba and before you mock my life choices maybe you should try one.”

 

Her laptop was still playing Otis but until now she hadn’t noticed it, his songs too innocuous and her guest too distracting. Now he was singing ‘That’s How Strong My Love Is’ and it did nothing to help how awkward she felt with him in her home. She thought about reaching over and quickly turning it off though she knew it would be too obvious. Instead she busily moved around her kitchen waiting for him to speak. He just sat quietly and tapped his thumb to beat.

 

Reaching up to a cupboard above she collected two small plates and two glasses; he’d been in her home now for at least ten minutes, she figured it was probably about time for him to snack on something. She retrieved a carton of milk from her fridge and set it on the bench with the glasses. Barba was watching every movement and, combined with their soundtrack, it made her neck and cheeks feel far too warm.

 

Finally, as the song faded out he spoke. “The hospital fired you?”

“Oh no,” she scoffed as she poured two glasses of milk. “They weren’t overly thrilled about me speaking out against their star surgeon so they just made life difficult until I did what they couldn’t actually do.”

“You know legally you have a…”

Jemima raised a hand to stop him, “I’m done with them.”

She set down the glass and a plate with a brownie in front of him before returning to the other side of the bench with her own.

 

Barba sneered, “Milk? I’m not nine.”

“Suit yourself,” she smiled back. “But you might need it, brownies are meant to be eaten with milk.”

He eyed her carefully before taking a bite. The small moan that rumbled from somewhere deep in his throat was enough to encourage the blush in her cheeks to return. She secretly relished in the knowledge that she caused that sound to emanate from him.

 

They ate in silence with Otis serenading them both. When Barba took a big gulp of milk Jemima giggled at his sheepish expression. Picking up a napkin he wiped his mouth then proceeded to fiddle with the thin paper.

“So are you avoiding New Years Eve, too?”

“Ugh, I hate New Years,” she huffed. “I usually try to work the night shift. I guess I can’t do that this year.”

 

Barba offered her a weak smile before clearing his throat; his fidgeting became more obvious, the napkin now torn into multiple pieces. “Does that mean you’re free?” He looked hopeful.

 

She cocked her head to the side, taken aback by his question. Usually Jemima’s instincts were pretty accurate but this seemed to be coming from very far left of field. She was certain her fascination with the ADA was not reciprocated.

“What?” was all she could manage.

He immediately jumped up from the stool and collected his scarf, “Nevermind.”

“No wait!” she followed suit, trying to encourage him to stay. “You just surprised me. I would have thought you’d have some big gala or fancy ball to go to.”

 

“You’re not the only one who hates New Years, Jemima. I would love nothing more than to avoid all of that, preferably with you.”

 

She’d never heard him say her name before. Well, that wasn’t true but he’d never said it to her.

 

“What did you have in mind?”

“Anything,” he sighed. “Anything away from everyone, away from crowds and stupid hats and those annoying party horn things people insist of blowing every three seconds.”

“God, they’re the worst aren’t they?” she laughed.

 

Jemima found herself grinning stupidly at him, her body closer to his than it had ever been before. He was a few inches taller than her and she noticed that her head could slip in just under his chin like a very comfortable puzzle piece. She admired his suit, a charcoal number complete with navy and white polka dot tie. His scent was overwhelming to her; a subtle and alluring combination of coffee, fresh laundry and a masculine aftershave she didn’t recognise. He was looking at her intently, that hopeful expression returning.

“Pick me up at 7?” her voice was quiet, almost lost to the music.

 

Barba blinked twice before smiling, the same genuine smile he gave her on the courthouse steps. Before she had a chance to take another step toward him the Imperial March began emanating from her bedroom.

“Hold on just a sec,” she squeaked as she opened up the space between them to find her phone in the other room.

 

He watched her walk away from him, slyly observing her tight dark jeans before craning his neck to see into her bedroom. Her muffled voice trickled into the living area and he took the opportunity to inspect her home, making a beeline for the bookshelves next to the window. Running a finger over their spines he read every title, smiling at the eclectic mix ranging from Gray’s Anatomy to Immanuel Kant to Evelyn Waugh. There were a couple of special edition graphic novels thrown in there too which he didn’t recognise but the Sondheim biography caught his eye. Propped up on the shelves were a few framed photos - a chocolate border collie cuddled by a little blonde, blue-eyed girl; Jemima in her graduation outfit with a joyful man and women either side, her parents most probably; and a sepia portrait of a stunning woman in an air force uniform with almost identical features to Jemima.

 

He spun around quickly when he thought he heard her coming, but the quiet conversation continued in the next room. Straightening up he moved on to inspect the framed minimalist film posters on the walls; he admired her taste both in aesthetics and film. She didn’t have much space, and to be honest it was a pretty dingy apartment, but she’d made it cosy and sweet. Within no time he was back at the kitchen counter, the chocolate brownies staring up at him from their cooling tray. Leaning across the bench to ensure she couldn’t see him he picked up a handful of napkins and wrapped two of the rectangle treats tightly before sneaking them into his overcoat pocket.

 

 

“Sorry,” Jemima breathed as she emerged from her bedroom. “Mothers.”

Her guest didn’t require any more explanation; he was more than experienced on the subject of overbearing maternal figures.

“That’s the ringtone you use for your mother, the Imperial March?” a smirk tugging at his lips.

Jemima nodded, her expression somewhere between shame and amusement.

 

Barba checked his watch and sighed, “I have to get back to my office.”

“It’s almost six.”

He agreed sadly but continued to dress in his coat and scarf. As he dressed Jemima spotted the cooling tray; speckles of crumbs remained where two brownies once sat. She knew that recipe like the back of her hand and it made exactly 20. Eyeing him suspiciously she grabbed a small Tupperware container and placed two of the baked treats inside.

“Here,” she handed him the container. “If you have to go back to work you may as well have a treat.”

 

She examined him carefully as he reached for the plastic box, waiting for him to politely decline her offer and admit to his thievery.

“Thankyou, I’ll enjoy them,” was all he said. He straightened his scarf with his free hand before making his way to the door. Jemima stood still, eyebrows raised in sheer disbelief. _The audacity of the man._

 

“So, I’ll see you Thursday night?” He checked.

Jemima nodded slowly, finally moving toward him as he let himself out the door and into the hallway. She planted herself in the doorway and played with the gold security chain.

 

“Don’t forget to eat _all_ those brownies, Mr Barba,” she purred, giving him a saccharine sweet smile. She winked knowingly and she could have sworn his ears were turning red. _Got him._

 

He spun back before he turned the corner out of her sight, “You have flour on your forehead, by the way,” he motioned with his finger. “Goodnight, Jemima.”

 

She shut the door behind her and looked at her reflection in the oven door.

“Goddamnit.”


	3. Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scrabble and sexytimes!

 

 

 

Jemima’s little retrousse nose scrunched involuntarily as she tried to make sense of the rubbish before her. She drummed her fingernails against the rumpled bedspread as she considered her options; what the hell was she going to do? She was ten points down and needed something good, something that would knock his socks off. He was beginning to get cocky, his competitive nature from all those years in the courtroom coming to the fore.

 

But she had so many vowels. Those pesky bastards were halting her progress. How did she manage to accumulate so many? Sighing, she rearranged the wooden tiles along the rack. It wouldn’t be the greatest play, or even a good one, but it would relieve her of some of those irritating tiles.

 

Jemima reached forward to place her letters on the old, fading scrabble board. Using the Z from Rafael’s previous play she made ZOOM. At least there was a double word score involved. She needed all the extra points she could muster.

 

Rafael was on the phone; she needn’t ask, she already knew it was work. His cell had started ringing in his pocket while he was gloating about his last high-scoring play. She’d begged him not to take it, reminding him this was his day off but he promised it wouldn’t take long. He was pacing around the living area speaking rapidly. Jemima set her chin atop folded arms and smiled to herself as she listened to the one-sided conversation in the next room. It was obvious he was annoyed, and she began counting on her fingers how many times he said the word ‘no.’

 

Rafael came to stand in the bedroom doorway, catching her eye to mouth the word ‘sorry’ before continuing his exchange. Rarely did they have the opportunity to spend their weekdays together with Jemima working day shifts at an urgent care centre and Rafael keeping his ridiculous hours. Most weekends and occasional evenings were reserved for the two of them. This mid-week date had already been interrupted due to Rafael’s hay fever; they had planned to spend the day mooching around the botanical gardens but when Rafael could no longer keep from sneezing and coughing it was time to call it a morning. Some antihistamines and a quick lunch later and he was a new man but by then the two were content to hang out at Jemima’s apartment. Jemima observed him from her bed. He’d dressed down for their lazy day together in a faded raglan shirt with dark jeans that hugged his ass perfectly. The hem of his shirt was slightly frayed and it shocked her that he owned something so casual, something less-than-perfect. The man was full of surprises.

 

“No, you can’t,” his exasperated voice pulled her away from her thoughts.

“Why?” He rolled his eyes as he turned to Jemima, a small little smile playing at his mouth. “Because its against the law, Carisi, that’s why. Are they teaching you anything at Fordham?”

Jemima disguised her amusement with a small yawn and covered her mouth; she didn’t want to appear to be condoning his snarky attitude toward the detective.

“Get something I can use,” he sighed before ending the call.

 

“You’re too hard on him, Raf. He wants to impress you.”

 

“I’ll be impressed when he brings me evidence to win this case. Did you take your turn or were you too busy checking me out when you thought I wasn’t watching?” he retorted as he cautiously resumed his position on the bed, careful not to disturb the board. He lay along the foot, in front of Jemima and supported his head with one arm as he rearranged his tiles with the other.

 

“Oh, I’m done. It’s your turn, Slick,” Jemima winked.

Rafael peered at the board to inspect her previous move and raised a mocking eyebrow.

“We can’t all be blessed with good letters,” she scolded.

 

Rafael chuckled as he inspected the virtually empty board and the seven letters he had in his arsenal. He hummed and rubbed his large thumb over his chin, causing his girlfriend to roll her eyes. She knew he’d had his word ready before he stepped out of the room, but he liked to put on a show. He liked to use little tricks and mind games to his advantage.

 

Sliding each tile onto the board Rafael revealed QUIVER, picking up a triple word score in the process. His opponent winced a little at the play. _Where was he getting those letters?_

“You wanna count the points or shall I?” He chuckled.

Jemima glared, “No one likes a show-off.”

 

Lying on her stomach, her feet in the air with her bare shins resting on the headboard of her bed, she rubbed her feet together a few times as she studied her options. She could feel his eyes on her, studying her, probably trying to distract her. Jemima smirked and rearranged her tiles, finally finding something she could use. Utilising his irksome V she spelt out RAVAGE, and gave Rafael a wink as she began adding up her points. She scooped up five new tiles and breathed a sigh of relief when she found something decent to work with.

 

Rafael shifted his position slightly and tugged on the black sleeve of his shirt, “Shits getting real now, baby,” he grinned.

“Starting to get nervous, Counsellor?” Jemima asked sweetly.

“Please,” he murmured.

 

He continued his show of concentration, his eyes darting from the board then to his tiles as he made his decision. Jemima purposefully rearranged herself as he worked. The way she was laying before him, along with the particularly low-cut neckline of her t-shirt, allowed for some rather impressive cleavage and she knew it would catch her adversary's eye. Her floral cotton skirt was inching further up her thighs as she bounced her legs gently against the headboard, she didn’t bother to adjust it.

 

Rafael’s gaze slowly rose from his tiles to her bust, her porcelain flesh spilling from her white cotton top. She gave him a cheeky smile and went back to sorting out her own tiles. Clearing his throat he collected his tiles, sliding them into place to reveal the word LICKED. He began calculating his points, sniffing nonchalantly to suggest she wasn’t having an effect on him.

 

Jemima eyed the K in the middle of the board and quickly spelt out her next word, moving her four tiles into place. She took her pen and added her score to the list as Rafael grinned. SPANK. Taking a tile from the unused pile he threw it at her chest, where it fell between her breasts.

“Are you throwing letters at me?” she scoffed.

“Are you trying distract me?” he retorted.

“Is it working?”

He sniffed, “you’ll have to try harder than that.”

 

Their cheeky flirtations were interrupted when Rafael’s cell phone rang again. He’d left it on the bedside table and with every ring it vibrated against the dark wood. He groaned and flung himself off the bed, snatching the phone up and answering it without checking the caller ID. His face turned to alarm as the voice on the other end spoke rapidly.

 

“Si mami, estoy en la oficina,” he murmured.

 

Jemima eyed him suspiciously with the distinct feeling he’d just lied to his mother. She felt a little uneasy at the thought, she’d not yet met the woman but it didn’t feel like a good start having Rafael lie to her about them. He walked around the bedroom, trying to get a word into the conversation. All he could manage were repeated nods and sighs. Jemima didn’t even try to understand what he was saying when he did speak; apart from basic phrases her Spanish consisted of things like _describe the pain_ and _how long has it been oozing?_

“Te hablaré manana. Si, te amo.”

 

He returned to his place on the bed and let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his hair. It was longer now than when they first met and free of product, she liked the natural waves and the little curls around his ears, they softened him. Jemima idly fiddled with a tile while she waited for him to vent.

 

“God will surely strike me down for lying to her,” he smirked.

“You think so?” Jemima asked as she placed the tile back on the rack.

“No, but that’s what she tells me.” He paused. “She knows I’m not at work, she’d already spoken to Carmen.”

“Oh…?”

Rafael’s face was serious, “She wants to meet you.”

Jemima’s eyes widened, “how does she…”

Rafael laughed at the panicked woman before him.

“Carmen doesn’t even know. How did she find out?” she continued.

 

“She said I sounded happy.”

“Are you?” Jemima asked, biting her lip a little in hesitation. They hadn’t discussed their relationship; they’d just naturally fallen into a rhythm that suited them both.

 

“I’ll be ecstatic once I’ve won this game,” he shot her a cheeky smirk.

“Let’s go then, Counsellor.”

 

 

 

She knew she couldn’t beat him but she was a scrappy fighter and didn’t mind playing dirty from time to time. She placed the end of her pen in her mouth and looked up at him through her long lashes. She subtly slid her torso closer to the board so her t-shirt would pull, revealing the lacy pattern of her bra. She continued rearranging tiles as if nothing had happened.

 

Rafael returned his attention to the game, though he struggled. His eyes darted from his girlfriend’s chest then back to his arrangement of letters more frequently. Finally, he huffed.

“Tell you what,” he began, his fingers fiddling with the letter S.

“I’m listening,” she grinned.

“Yeah…” he exhaled, stretching the word out as the air left his lungs. “I forfeit. You win.” The last syllable hadn’t even left his lips before he was leaning over the board and kissing her.

 

Jemima turned over onto her back, her legs still raised to the ceiling and Rafael crawled over to her, sliding the scrabble set to the side as he moved. Tiles spilled onto the bedspread but he didn’t bother with them, his attention focused solely on his component. He knelt at her side to kiss her again and she took the opportunity to snake her hands into his hair and run her fingernails over his scalp, eliciting a warm moan from him. Rafael traced his tongue over her bottom lip before gently gaining entry.

 

Since their first kiss at New Years Jemima had quickly become infatuated by Rafael’s lips and the kisses they left all over her. He seemed to know exactly how to kiss her and precisely what she needed; from quick pecks to long, erotic kisses their lips fit together seamlessly and it drove her crazy. In their short time together she found Rafael could communicate more through a kiss than with words – though she needn’t try hard to decipher his intention now. Soft lips nipped and licked hungrily at her and his tongue caressed her own in a way that left her heart racing.

 

Their languid hands roamed over one another’s bodies; Rafael’s running down her neck to her breasts, Jemima’s caressing his shoulders and firm biceps. There was no question where their behaviour would lead and so long as Rafael’s phone did not start chiming she was happy to continue, her head swimming with anticipation and the slightest trepidation. Every other time they had been this close, this in the moment, something had torn them apart; a last minute shift change at urgent care or a call from the 16th Precinct. If his phone rung now she was positive she would throw it out her bedroom window onto the asphalt below.

 

Rafael pulled away from her to sit up straight. He was perched at her side on his knees with lust filled eyes and mouth open trying to catch his breath. Jemima reached over to massage his thigh; circling her thumb over the rough denim, inching upwards achingly slow. To retaliate her teasing he reached up to run his large hand along her smooth leg, beginning at her ankle and trailing down her calf to her thigh. From where he sat he could only reach one leg but it didn’t matter, his touch left patterns of goose bumps over her skin. The other hand dipped into her t-shirt, under the cup of her bra where his long fingers gently kneaded her breast.

 

His breath hitched and his grip tightened on her thigh when Jemima’s hand reached the bulge in his jeans. Noticing his reaction she increased the pressure from her palm and offered him a mischievous smile.

 

“Take off your shirt,” he whispered.

“You take off yours,” she answered, reaching up to tug at the tatty hem of his raglan.

 

The black and white garment was up and over his head in lightening speed and Jemima followed suit, scattering some of the scrabble tiles as she shed her top and flicked it onto the floor. For once she was grateful he wasn’t in his work clothes, she didn’t think she could wait for him to discard the excessive number of layers. The desire to touch his bare skin overwhelmed her and she leaned up to properly caress him. His hands jumped to her shoulder and stomach, pressing her back into the bed. “Stay right there,” Rafael breathed.

 

With a huff she surrendered, opting instead to reach up to stroke the dark hair on his chest. She pulled it lightly before drawing the tips of her fingers over one nipple and then further down to his stomach to the hair leading into his jeans. Rafael’s warm hand gripped her own and pulled it up to his face to pepper it with small, hot kisses. Keeping her hand locked in his own he ran his free hand down her leg once more, this time continuing on to tease her through her underwear. He watched her face intently as his fingers drew circles along the silk fabric.

 

Jemima’s eyes met his, keen and overcome with need, before raking over his body down to his lap. She tried to reach him with her free hand, the strain against the denim couldn’t have been comfortable but he stopped her; clasping her hand in his, next to her other. She was helpless.

“Not yet, cariño,” he warned.

Jemima whined.

 

In order to distract her Rafael pulled her underwear off over her legs, rather skilfully single-handedly, before gently teasing her, humming a little at what he found.

“Tan mojado,” he groaned.

Jemima had no clue what he said but it didn’t matter, it was beyond sexy and Rafael knew it turned her on. She shut her eyes tight as her breath became heavier with every swirl and flick on her sensitive bundle of nerves.

 

The tiny bedroom was quiet except for the breathy moans from Jemima and the almost inaudible, untranslatable expressions from Rafael as he watched her body react to his touch. His fingers crept lower to her slick entrance before stopping completely and he waited for her to open her eyes.

“May I?” his voice was low, his eyes hopeful.

She could do nothing but nod emphatically, no longer caring how desperate she appeared.

 

With one finger and then two he was bringing her closer and closer and she bit her lip roughly to control her whimpers. Rafael’s eyes were trained on his fingers, watching as they repeatedly dipped in and out of her and he rocked his hips instinctively to create friction between himself and his jeans. When he curled his fingers Jemima’s voice cracked and her toes began to flex and point; Rafael raised his head to watch them react, taking great pleasure in seeing her legs tremble.

 

Sensing she was close he extracted his fingers and let go of her hands, and he was up off the bed before she knew what was happening. Jemima opened her eyes to see Rafael’s fingers in his mouth, licking them clean, and his free hand inching down the front of his jeans. She’d never seen anything more erotic.

 

“Clothes off. Now,” she choked out. With her feet pressed against the headboard she pushed herself further down the bed and tugged off her skirt and bra while Rafael quickly stripped off his jeans and boxers. He was crawling back onto the bed and over her within seconds, one hand in a pool of tiles and the other running down her chest to her hip. She took the opportunity to touch him properly, reaching down to gently stroke his cock, thick and ready. She repeatedly ran her thumb along the vein of his shaft; feeling drops of precum drip onto the skin of her stomach.

“Condoms are in the top draw,” she whispered and he was stretching back behind him, digging around blindly to find the box.

 

As if by some cruel fate his phone began to ring. Jemima’s heart sank, this was not happening. Tearing the foil wrapper with his teeth Rafael glanced over to read the ID.

“Rafael Barba, I swear to all that is good and holy…” she warned. “If you answer that I will kick you outta here so fucking fast and finish this without you.” It was a baseless threat but she was beyond desperate and judging by his own state, so was he.

 

Positioning himself between her legs he leant down and kissed her slowly, chuckling as he moved toward her neck.

“I’m all yours, though I would very much like to see you do that last part sometime.”

Slowly he entered her, giving her as much time to adjust as needed. He groaned at the sensation of being inside her, it had been a very long time for him and he made sure to pace himself, not wanting it to be over too soon.

 

When she was ready he began to rock, his gradual movements as much for her sake as they were his own. Jemima ran her fingers over his shoulders and down his back, feeling the warm flesh under her fingertips. When she reached his ass she smoothed her palms over it before moving her hips upwards in time with his. The heated moan Rafael left against her neck was all the encouragement she required to keep swaying along with him. The soft hair from his chest tickled Jemima’s skin as they moved together and she studied his face above her. His mouth was open again, just slightly and his eyes were closed. His eyebrows, those impossibly pale eyebrows, were furrowed as he concentrated on his thrusts. The dark curls around his hairline were damp and sticking to his skin and she brought a hand up to trace her fingers through his hair. He opened his eyes when he felt her contact, the green of his irises darker than she’d seen them before.

 

“Estás tan jodidamente Hermosa,” Rafael whispered.

Jemima moaned.

“I’m so close,” his voice was shaky and it affected her more than she thought it could.

“It’s okay,” she assured. “Come.”

Rafael shook his head, slowing down his thrusts. “Not before you do.”

 

He slid his hand down between them and began circling her clit, causing Jemima to gasp. It was an awkward angle for his arm but he was determined and within no time she was where he wanted her. She writhed beneath him before completely coming undone, gripping his arms as she cried out. His body reacted to hers and with a few erratic thrusts Rafael emitted a cracked, guttural moan against the nape of her neck. His breath, heavy with exhaustion shuddered against her skin as his thick, warm body melted atop of hers causing Jemima to shiver with a final wave of arousal.

 

Eventually he rolled away from her and took quick care of the prophylactic. Jemima admired her partner’s flushed neck and cheeks, noticing his heartbeat was only just returning to a regular pace under her outstretched hand. His head lay partially on the scrabble board. Jemima inspected the wayward tiles that had found their way into various crooks and curves of their bodies. They lay upside down on the covers of her bed, naked, broad daylight streaming through her bedroom window. Jemima knew she should feel incredibly self-conscious, every scar and contour of her body was on display in the harsh light of day but she was too blissful to care.

 

Rafael’s hand met for hers and he laced their fingers together. “To answer your question properly, I’m the happiest I’ve been in a very long time.”

Bringing their intertwined hands up to his lips he kissed each of her knuckles.

“And if this is what happens when we play board games then I think a rematch is in order.”


	4. Summer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Steamy bubble bath with Barba, anyone?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your lovely feedback and kudos! It was truly appreciated and such a confidence booster.

 

Jemima reminded herself it was only a week. No longer than that. She warned herself not to become too comfortable, not to enjoy it too much because come Sunday she’d be back in her pokey apartment in her crummy walk-up. She was worried about cramping his style or becoming a burden in his home; Rafael was a man who enjoyed his ritual, his space and his way of doing things. When he gave her his spare key and insisted she stay with him for the week while her apartment was fumigated she was more than a little surprised. She would have been fine booking a hotel room or crashing on a friend’s couch but Rafael seemed to have other ideas.

 

His apartment was a little roomier than her own and a whole lot nicer. She had no problem admitting that her place was pretty close to a shithole but she made it liveable. Everything in Rafael’s apartment worked, his neighbours were kind and he had a doorman and an elevator. Rafael had nice things too, new things he hadn’t acquired from goodwill. He owned a cushy leather lounge suite, a sizeable flat screen television, his kitchen wasn’t tiny and there was space to keep appliances when they weren’t in use. She never thought she’d be so enamoured by storage space. But her favourite thing was the company; falling asleep and waking up beside Rafael, hurriedly getting ready for work each morning and relaxing in the evenings together.

 

Rafael had been remarkable accommodating to her. When he brought her home with her leather overnight bag slung over his shoulder, he directed her to his bedroom where he’d cleared a dresser drawer for her, along with a space in his wardrobe and he noted he’d made room in the bathroom cabinet too. Jemima would have happily lived out of her bag but Rafael was taking this very seriously. It was really quite endearing and sweet though she kept that thought to herself.

 

She could definitely imagine them living together permanently though she convinced herself it was far too early to make that type of commitment. Though on many levels they were completely in tune there was still so much to learn about each other. In the past few days of their temporary living situation she’d come to learn that Rafael was not the fastidiously clean and organised man he’d led her to believe. When he expected her company he would clean and tidy to ensure his apartment reflected the sharp image of his person. But in reality, he was a pretty messy guy. He didn’t always bother with stacking the dishwasher after meals, his socks and underwear preferred the floor than the laundry hamper and his coffee table was almost always covered with a combination of case files, catalogues, unread mail and used coffee cups. Jemima preferred him that way, a little more loose, a bit more human.

 

There was also the recent discovery of Rafael’s secret stash. She’d discovered it on the third day as his guest. Rafael had called her late, explaining he was stuck at the precinct with a suspect. While she had him on the phone she asked if he had any spare batteries for his TV remote and he instructed her to check the desk in his study. She wasn’t entirely shocked when she found them, she knew he had a particular weakness but she was sad he felt he had to hide it, had to stash it away in the second draw of his desk. She wondered if there was more elsewhere in the apartment. Her suspicions were confirmed when she discovered a stockpile in his bedside table and another in the drawer under his coffee table. Packets of mixed nuts, pretzels and trail mix – some opened and half consumed. There were a few packets of M&M’s too; she assumed they were for the really bad days, when the stress was a little too much. Jemima made herself a mental note to replenish his supplies.

 

Jemima was fantasising about making a home with Rafael as she undressed in his bathroom. After her particularly gruelling day at the urgent care she desperately wanted to make good use of his deep bath and decided to complete the therapy with bubbles and an aromatic candle. She figured Rafael would be home late so she could soak away without being disturbed.

 

She dipped her toes into the water to check the temperature before committing completely and submerging herself wholly into the warm bubbly water. It was exactly what she needed. At midday she was vomited on by a less than adorable six year-old. The air-conditioning unit died leaving her scrub shirt grossly sweaty by lunchtime. Her waiting room was full of dehydrated adults by three o’clock and she was sick to death of telling people who should know better that it was summer and they needed to keep hydrated.

 

When Jemima finally surfaced she heard a dull thud in the kitchen and what sounded like keys slide across the bench. Her head whipped to the side to face the bathroom door, which stood ajar. Opening her mouth to call out she paused when she thought her boyfriend was speaking to her. She edged herself up higher in the bath straining to hear him. He wasn’t talking to her but he was definitely saying something and he sounded too happy to be talking on the phone. His voice was clearer the closer he came to the bathroom; she figured he was probably in the bedroom now.

 

He wasn’t on the phone. He wasn’t even talking. He was singing. Jemima’s eyes widened in shock – the voice on him, where was this coming from? How did she not know this about him?

 

_Can I tie you up, love?_

_If you tell me yes_

_I’ll unbutton every button down your green, green dress_

 

Jemima stifled a giggle as she listened to him. He was singing with such abandon, it was so unlike him. She loved it.

 

_The green, green dress, twenty buttons and a strap_

_The green, green dress, what a pleasure to unwrap_

_Green, green dress, oh what it can do_

_What the green, green dress does to me on you_

_Me on you_

 

Rafael nudged open the bathroom door, eyes closed as he sung, and walked towards the toilet. He opened his eyes to lift the toilet seat and then proceeded to unbutton his suit pants. It seemed pretty clear to Jemima he had no idea she was home, let alone in the bath next to him.

 

“Whoa, Rafael!” she shrieked as he began to unzip, knowing time was of the essence in this situation. Rafael jumped sideways away from her voice and bumped into the towel rail on the wall.

 

“Jem, you’re home?”

“Sorry I scared you, are you okay?”

 

He rubbed his shoulder where it had come into contact with the rail. “Well, if I didn’t have to pee before I certainly do now.” He looked at her expectantly, his suit trousers completely undone. “Are you almost finished in there?”

 

“Just jumped in actually and I have a lot of relaxing still to do,” she smiled.

Rafael huffed in frustration. “I really have to… I can’t go if you’re watching.”

“Shy bladder syndrome?”

“I’d really rather not discuss it,” he murmured.

 

Grabbing her large fluffy towel she stood up in the middle of the tub and wrapped it around herself snugly before stepping out. Rafael avoided looking at her more out of embarrassment than decency and he kept his head low as she left the room still dripping.

 

She waited for him to wash his hands before she stepped back into the bathroom, trying her hardest to disguise her shivering. He still wasn’t looking at her. He was the most confident person she knew so she did find herself a little surprised by his current demeanour. She rubbed his shoulder gently coaxing him to look at her. Years of experience confirmed to her that everyone had their weird shit, God she herself had her fair share of complexities; she hadn’t yet told him about her phobia of antique dolls. Finally he met her eyes, a small self-conscious smile tugged at his lips, “thanks.”

 

She gently kissed him and removed her towel, placing it in his hands. “No worries. Now take off your clothes and join me please,” Jemima looked over her shoulder as she stepped back into the warm water.

“I have so much work to do,” he exhaled.

Jemima pouted, sticking out her lower lip as she sniffed.

Rafael shook his head, “nice try.”

“Fine,” she mumbled, _time to play hardball_. “I won’t talk to you about your Paruresis if you get in this bathtub with me right now.”

 

Rafael looked at her longingly, his eyes following her long leg as she purposefully brought it out from the bubbles and extended it upwards into the air, pointing her toes. He watched the water glide down her porcelain skin and groaned. He was dressed in a tan suit, no waistcoat given the temperature just a baby blue tie. He sighed as he slid the silk tie from his neck and shed his white shirt and trousers into a pile at his feet. Jemima leaned over the side of the tub to watch intently as he removed his bright socks and boxers. In two long strides he was at the edge of the tub stepping in behind her. His large hands softly clutched her shoulders to coax her back into his chest and his legs slid beside her own, his knees just bobbing above the water line.

 

“Isn’t this better than work?” Jemima turned her head to plant a kiss at the hollow of his neck. A contented hum was all he could muster as his hands ran down her arms to her hips where he gave her a quick squeeze. They finally came to settle atop her smooth thighs, his fingers outstretched to touch as much of her as he could. Jemima ran her fingers up and down his arms, tracing his veins softly with just the tips of her nails.

 

The two of them relaxed in the silence for some time. Rafael lathered Jemima’s back and shoulders while she massaged his legs. There was no need to exchange words, the two content to bathe in silence with just the gentle dripping and sloshing of the water providing their soundtrack. Occasionally Rafael left a chaste kiss just below her ear or gingerly traced his fingers down the middle of her chest, between her breasts to rest at her stomach. When she knew Rafael’s head was leaning back against the tiled wall behind him she scooped her hands full of foamy bubbles and twisted her body around to better face him. While his eyes were closed she wiped the white froth onto his cheeks and chin, giving the allusion of a snowy white beard. His eyes popped open in surprise and then rolled dramatically at Jemima’s childish giggles. Parting his lips slightly he blew the bubbles away from his mouth, the foam landing on her nose.

 

“Can I wash you hair?” Rafael finally broke their silence, running his fingers through the damp waves.

“I would love that,” she whispered, eyes closed as he kneaded her scalp.

 

He took his time lathering the freesia-scented shampoo through her hair, making sure to catch every strand as he gathered it into a foamy bun on the top of her head. Again his fingers massaged her scalp and she couldn’t help but close her eyes and hum at the beautiful sensation. The sound of her own rhythmic humming reminded her of Rafael’s entrance earlier.

 

“I didn’t know you could sing, Raf. You never mentioned it.”

He stopped his work on her hair and reached for the handheld shower, turning it on and testing the temperature on this hand before guiding her head back to begin rinsing.

“It never came up, I guess,” his voice was quiet as he concentrated on guiding the soap away from her eyes and ears.

“You’re voice is incredible, you shouldn’t hide it.”

“I’ll remember that at my next arraignment.”

Jemima dipped her hand under the water and pinched a particularly sensitive spot high on his thigh causing him to yelp and splash himself with the showerhead.

 

“Take my fucking compliment and don’t sass me,” she chided. “I’m not saying you should break out into song during closing arguments, I’m merely saying you should be proud, you have a wonderful talent. Don’t hide it away.”

 

Rafael sighed in defeat, “thank you.” He ran a final hand through her now squeaky clean hair and draped an arm across her chest, gripping a shoulder to pull her into his chest tightly. “That song I was singing, do you know it?”

 

She nodded, peppering his forearm with little kisses, “It’s from that Jonathan Larson musical.”

 

“It makes me think of you or you make me think of it. You wore that green dress to the courthouse that night, do you remember? You looked like someone out of a 1940s film sitting up there on the stand. You were nervous about the case and I just wanted it to be over so I could ask you out.”

“I thought you hated me,” Jemima revealed.

Rafael sighed at her revelation, “That wouldn’t be the first time someone had that impression.”

 

 

“Will you sing to me?”

“Jem,” he exhaled warily.

“Just a couples of lines?” Jemima begged, turning in his arms a little so she could look up at him. She kissed along his jawline adding a ‘please’ between every kiss and nibble.

 

Rafael released an exasperated breath, knowing his girlfriend would not be taking no for an answer. He leaned down to kiss her lips softly and tightened his grip on her body.

 

_Deep dark velvet hugs your silhouette_

_Black silk stockings, you’re my Juliet_

He sung into her ear, smiling as he felt her fingers run slowly up his thighs.

 

 

_Soft blond hair baby, baby blue eyes_

_Cool me down before I jump into your thighs!_

 

On the last line he took the running showerhead and placed it between Jemima’s legs causing her to shriek in surprise. Her fingertips dug deep into his flesh as he ran the pulsing current of water over her sensitive clit. Her head fell back onto his shoulder as he held her close to him and his right hand traced down her chest to cup and massage her breast. His left hand moved the showerhead in slow circles to add to the throbbing sensation of the water, the small whimper that left Jemima’s mouth and travelled towards his ear was all the encouragement he needed.

 

He kept his ministrations slow and further teased out soft moans and sighs from her. The pad of his thumb gently orbited her nipple, coaxing it to attention just as Jemima’s back arched causing her head to lean further into his shoulder and her chest to thrust forward, filling his large hand with her breast. Rafael turned slightly to take her earlobe between his teeth, gently running his tongue along the soft skin and causing her to inhale sharply.

  
“Cómo se siente bien?” He whispered with devilish glee.

Jemima whimpered as one hand crept up to touch him, running her fingers over the back of his head through his damp hair. She leaned sideways to catch his lips with hers, tenderly sucking on his lower lip.

Rafael pulled away with a satisfied smirk, “I’ll take that as a yes.”

 

Moving his hand away from her breast Rafael slowly trailed downward to join his other hand, busily circling the showerhead to increase her pleasure. Keeping the pace he slowly glided two fingers inside her, thrusting slowly to build her up. Jemima could feel Rafael’s own excitement behind her though when she tried to reach for him he shifted his body to deny her access. Instead Jemima pushed herself closer to him and with every writhe of her body Rafael involuntarily thrust against her.

 

While Rafael’s fingers plunged faster and faster Jemima took the showerhead from his other hand. Keeping an eye on the rising water level she quickly positioned the pulsing water behind her, between them, directly against his thick shaft. His fingers momentarily faltered as he reacted to the sensation.

“Fuck, cariño!”

“Bueno?” Jemima teased, almost completely out of breath from her own encroaching gratification.

Rafael could only manage a broken whisper, “bien.”

 

With her free hand Jemima extracted his fingers. Her entire body was shaking, she was so close but she wanted Rafael to feel just as good. She carefully moved herself to face him so she could watch him; his flushed cheeks, his lazy smirk as he let the bubbling jets of water massage his cock. Lowering the showerhead down to his balls she used her free hand to stroke him and the deep groan that left his throat told her it was the right move. Loosening her grip around him she trailed her fingertips over his thick veins until she reached the smooth head, swiping her thumb over the tip slowly.

 

Noticing how high the bath was filled Jemima reached over and turned off the faucet. Rafael’s eyes flung open with the loss of the pulsing sensation but before he could complain Jemima was straddling him, guiding him inside her to finish him off. The soapy water, no longer bubbly, sploshed over the bath’s edge as she rocked on top of him. Rafael immediately grabbed her waist and met her thrusts with vigour, his grunts echoing through the stark bathroom. Jemima’s body shook as she came, her fingers digging deep into the back of Rafael’s neck. He quickly locked his lips with hers, gliding his tongue over hers as he followed, his hips jerking unsteadily as he released.

 

While he recovered Jemima carefully stepped out of the tub and found Rafael’s towel, fastening her own around her while she waited for him.

“Careful, it’s a little slippery,” she warned as he stepped out to meet her.

Rafael smirked, “I wonder who did that?”

 

Deciding to enjoy the light breeze trailing between the high buildings they sat out on Rafael’s balcony while they waited for their takeout. The temperature had hardly changed since Jemima’s walk home so the two were comfortable in cotton shorts and soft t-shirts as they sat lazily. She admired Rafael as he poured her another glass of wine, the curls in this hair more prominent while it was damp and hint of dark stubble across his chin stirring something deep within her. Returning to his chair Rafael coaxed her legs onto his lap, the fair hair on his thighs tickling her smooth calves. Massaging her feet with his large hands he drew in a deep breath before breaking their silence.

“Move in with me,” his voice was barely audible.

Jemima whipped her head sideways to study him. “Huh?”

 

“I want you to live here with me.” It wasn’t actually a question though the uncertainty in his voice turned it into one.

“You just want more steamy bath sex,” Jemima joked, prodding his tummy with her toes.

Rafael remained silent, his hands motionless on her legs.

 

“It’s so soon,” she let the statement hang in the balmy air. “Isn’t it?”

“Says who?”

“We haven’t even been together a year.”

Rafael shrugged nonchalantly, “so?”

 

Jemima wanted this, she’d fantasized about it and the last week made the dream ever more real. But she never thought Rafael would share her desires. Suddenly her feet were back on the hard concrete and Rafael was up and pacing in front of her. He had his attorney face on and he was listing reasons why this was right. Quickly she realised he’d been considering these points for some time; he was a little to ready with his case. She sat before him like a jury member as he made his argument.

 

“My building is secure, you don’t have to sleep with a baseball bat in your hand!” She knew this was a particularly important point for him; she was well aware of the type of cases he prosecuted and the concerns he had about her safety in the neighbourhood.

 

“There are no stray cats roaming around the fire escapes.” Another strong point that alluded to a particularly feisty tabby who snuck into her bathroom window to scare the living daylights out of a very naked and half-asleep Rafael early one morning.

 

“We could actually see each other during the week and not just weekends. And it’s closer to the clinic so you won’t have to take the subway, which means we can stay in bed a little longer in the mornings.” He made that point crouched in front of her, both hands gently gripping her waist, his chin settled on her knees, looking at her with a sweet hangdog expression.

 

His face was a picture of sincerity and his green eyes bore into hers. He hadn’t let go of her, instead he was holding her tighter, clinging to her like he was a drowning man and she was his life saver.

“I miss you when you’re not here. It’s…” Jemima could see he was struggling to say the words aloud. “It’s lonely here.”

 

She ran her hands over his shoulders, tracing soft circles over the dark fabric of his t-shirt. Before she could answer him he was speaking again, his stubbly chin scraping along her knees.

“I love you, Jem and I want you here all the time. I want to mix my things with your things.”

“I have a lot of weird things, Raf,” she warned.

He placed a gentle kiss on her left knee and then another on her right. She could feel him smiling against her skin. “I know.”

 

“You must be pretty serious then,” she thought about her eclectic décor in particular her beloved Back to the Future character portraits and how they’d sit amongst her boyfriend’s minimalist, monochrome style.

 

“Por favor?” He looked hopeful.

Jemima threw her hands up in pantomime exasperation, “Fine! You convinced me with all your fancy lawyer tricks.”

 

She leaned down to kiss him tenderly, running her hands up to cup his cheeks. “I love you, Rafael.”

“You were going to say yes all along weren’t you?” a shy smile emerging across his face.

Jemima nodded quickly, “but you were so cute stating your case I didn’t want to stop you.”

 

 

They ate their Thai straight from the containers while watching the glowing sunset, broken up by the buildings in front of them. Jemima’s legs were back across Rafael’s lap as they idly discussed plans for their future.


End file.
